


Losing Touch

by Selenic



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode Related, Episode: s03e23 Sentinel Too Part 1, Episode: s04e01 Sentinel Too Part 2, First Kiss, M/M, Mental Link, POV: Jim Ellison, Pre-Slash, Psychic Bond, sensory instability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 18:23:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5216015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selenic/pseuds/Selenic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They’d barely found the balance of living together again and were gradually re-establishing the routines they’d gotten accustomed to before, but something would always be different. In Jim’s case, the change was beginning to affect him in ways that were increasingly hard to ignore."</p><p>After everything Jim and Blair had been through with Alex Barnes and in Sierra Verde, Blair has kept a close eye on the Sentinel, too close in Jim's opinion. Now Blair's going on a trip and Jim is looking forward to having some time to himself. But he doesn't realize that he's still far from being done with the repercussions of both his experiences in the Sentinel temple, and the moment when he almost lost Blair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Losing Touch

**Author's Note:**

> This is not the first Sentinel story I've finished, but it is the very first one I started after watching the show. Took me some time, but it's finally done! I want to thank melagan, squidgiepdx, sgamadison, and everyone else who recommended The Sentinel series to me a few years back, and gave me the change to fall in love with the show and the characters :) I also owe a special thank you to melagan for giving the story a read through, and thus for me the final push to finish this fic.
> 
> The story takes place some time after the events in Sentinel Too 1 & 2 and contains spoilers for them. Unbetad, all mistakes are mine.
> 
> Crossposted on [my LJ](http://selenic76.livejournal.com/88969.html)

 

Losing Touch

 

"Sandburg, I’ll be fine," Jim repeated for what seemed the millionth time, and practically shoved Blair backwards out the door, causing the indecisive young man to almost tip over because of the heavily stuffed backpack he was carrying. "You’re going to miss your flight if you don’t get going, not to mention your ride has been waiting outside for twenty minutes and the honking is driving me nuts."

What the hell was wrong with the guy today? Hadn’t Blair incessantly blabbered for weeks about this vacation with this Tina, Toni, Tanya, whatever the hell her name was, and yet he now stood there, all geared up but barely past the threshold, ready to cancel the whole trip.

"Maybe I shouldn’t go after all," Blair said and already took a step towards Jim, only to be stopped by a strong hand. The look on his face was one of conflict, as if he was really torn about whether to go or stay. "Jim, what if something happens, what if you zone out and I’m not there for you, what if—"

"It’s only a week," Jim interrupted, "and a week I’m personally looking forward to, because I get to spend some time _alone_ without a certain anthropologist constantly _watching_ me and _making notes_." It came out harsher than he had intended to—Jim was tired, they’d had this conversation a dozen times already today, and a part of him didn’t want Blair to leave either. The hurt look in those damn worried puppy dog eyes had already triggered a dangerously strong urge to pull the younger man into his arms and never let go. And that was just the tip of the proverbial iceberg. He seriously needed to put some distance between them. Jim sighed, took Blair by the arms, looked him in the eyes, and tried to sound reassuring.

"Look, I’ll try to keep out of trouble, and I’m sure Simon will be watching me like a hawk too, I know you’ve asked him to keep a close eye on me,"—being able to eavesdrop through several walls had its advantages, and Blair blushing slightly only confirmed that Jim had heard correctly—"which I’m sure he’ll do, if for no other reason than to annoy me. And I have the number of the hotel you’re staying in, and I promise to call if my senses start acting up. Okay, Chief?"

Blair tensed up at first, mouth already opening to give another argument, but then he seemed to finally give in, and relaxed. "Okay," he agreed quietly, and moved back as Jim released him. "But remember, you promised," he still stated defiantly, jabbing a finger into Jim’s chest and giving him a final strict stare before grinning widely and turning to rush the first steps down the stairs. "I’m gonna hold you to that!"

"Yeah, yeah," Jim sighed again, shaking his head as he closed the door, but he still had to smile at the persistence of the kid. He knew he really should stop calling Blair a kid, even if he was the younger of the two, but it was hard not seeing him as one sometimes; Blair got so excited about everything, like a kid in a candy store, and had more energy than three normal people combined together. A person like that could, indeed like a child, be both adorable and frustratingly irritating at the same time, but Jim often forgave the latter because of the former.

Leaning against the wooden surface of the door, Jim trained his ears on the footsteps going down. They had stopped midway, and Jim could hear hesitant shuffling of feet and a quiet mumbling of ‘oh man, what am I doing’, but eventually Blair continued on, and out. Jim heard a car door open and close, and then Blair was on his way, and soon beyond Jim’s hearing. He wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or regretful.

Pushing off the door Jim walked to the large glass doors of the balcony, the view of the city lighting up for the night a more comforting sight than the emptiness of his apartment. _Just a week._ He’d barely spent a day apart from Blair since... _Since you kicked him out, since he almost died..._ Jim winced at the memory, and all the others that it brought up. They’d barely found the balance of living together again and were gradually re-establishing the routines they’d gotten accustomed to before, but something would always be different. In Jim’s case, the change was beginning to affect him in ways that were increasingly hard to ignore.

It was late, and the long process of convincing his faithful watchdog that Jim could manage without supervision for a few days had worn him out, so he decided to wash up and go to bed early. Who knew what Simon had in store for him tomorrow? The captain was no less concerned than Blair about what effects the recent events might have had on Jim, even if he didn’t talk as verbosely about it as Sandburg, and would probably try to find him a temporary partner—maybe even hook Jim up with Connor now that she had learned about Jim being a Sentinel. With any luck, a good night’s sleep would shed some light on what was happening to Jim, because he sure as hell didn’t have any clue right now.

Despite his exhaustion, sleep was fitful, the bed and the sheets oddly cold and unfamiliar against his skin. Jim didn’t remember seeing any dreams, but he woke with the feeling of being chased by something, and it stayed with Jim all through the morning. He ate breakfast in nervous solitude, staring the empty chair across the table.

 

~~~

 

"Are you serious?" Jim shouted loud enough to turn several heads, staring at the folders on his desk in disbelief. This was Simon’s great plan to keep Jim out of trouble, paperwork?

"Very," Simon replied calmly. "And there’s plenty more where that came from. About time someone volunteered to go through the cold case archives."

"I _didn’t_ ," Jim declared angrily and glared at Simon, but the captain just grinned at him.

"Then how come I distinctly remember you mentioning you would love to help out with these during Sandburg’s absence?" Simon inquired with a feigned expression of reminiscing.

"Well your memory needs to be checked, _old man_ ," Jim grumbled, "and I need to be out in the field, not sitting here gathering dust like these files have been doing." His fist hit the heap of paper, lifting a grey puff or particles into the air.

"Oh, so you think something like this is beyond your pay grade, detective?" Simon snapped at him, quietly so others wouldn’t hear, but with sharp authority. "Is it too menial for someone with your _abilities_?"

"No, I just—" Jim didn’t really know what to say, so he gave up. Simon had a point, going through cold cases was as important as any other police work, but it wasn’t what Jim had had in mind. He sat down into his chair with a resigned thud. "I just didn’t think could turn useless overnight." He was a cop, and now more than ever he needed to be doing his job. Or at least something more distracting than paperwork.

"You know that’s not true," Simon told him more amicably. "But I can’t let you work in the field when I can’t be sure you’re up for it. I’m saying this as your captain, and as your friend."

"He really got to you, didn’t he?" Jim noted slightly bitterly, not even bothering to look at Simon anymore. He hadn’t listened in on the entire conversation between Simon and Blair, but it was easy enough to guess the missing details from the outcome.

"He made a valid argument," Simon said, not even asking who and what Jim meant, "and considering the number or predicaments your abilities have gotten you into, I agreed. Now get to work. The sooner you start, the sooner you’ll be done." Then he turned on his heels, and left, mumbling under his breath. "Those two are going to put me into an early grave if I don’t keep them in line..."

The really infuriating part was that they weren’t wrong exactly; Jim still hadn’t learned to fully control his senses, and being prone to zone-outs was something he’d accepted as part of the deal of being a Sentinel. Even if he hadn’t exactly been his usual self lately, they could still trust him a bit more, instead of treating him like the slightest thing could make Jim slip into a coma. Still, that wasn’t why Jim was angry—he was angry for reasons he’d avoided thinking of lately, because they turned his life into one uncomfortable mess. But you could only run so far from yourself.

For now at least, there was work to be done, so he picked up the first folder and got to it. Being grumpy wouldn’t turn Simon’s head, and Jim would just be wasting his own time sulking. And there was always the off chance that a new case would come along that simply demanded the use of Jim’s special talents, and Simon could hardly say no to him then.

 

~~~

 

The mind-numbingly uneventful and tedious day, even with the dust irritating his nose and throat like Jim had been inhaling sandpaper, had been worth it in the end. The work had been surprisingly interesting, and it had kept Jim’s mind from wandering. By the time he'd gotten home he was in a better mood, and ready to enjoy the evening alone.

His place hadn’t been that quiet and peaceful in a long time. No loud music, no chattering, just a blissful silence. Relaxing on the couch after grabbing some take-out—that he’d gotten to choose, all by himself, from exactly the place he'd wanted—he'd turned on the TV to watch a random game that was playing. Now Jim was contentedly sipping a nice cold beer that got rid of the last tickly motes of dust in his throat. He deserved some time off from Blair, to have the house just to himself like he used to. The lit fireplace spread warmth into the room, pushing away the coldness seeping in from the rain-battered outer walls, and painting the surroundings with a golden glow.

This was what Jim had been waiting for, a chance to push all his troubles into some dark corner of his mind, forget all about Alex and Sierra Verde, and really unwind. He really had missed his old life, living alone and being just Jim Ellison, and not a Sentinel. Keeping his senses on a level close to what they’d been before his abilities had manifested, Jim could almost imagine that’s all he was—an ordinary man, nothing more, nothing less. Almost.

Of all his senses, touch had always been the hardest for Jim to keep in check, and even now it made him slightly too aware of the sweatpants and t-shirt he was wearing. So he compensated by concentrating more on the other signals he was receiving. The game wasn’t too interesting though, neither of the teams were very good, so his mind drifted to other subjects. Like why he sat on the couch alone, and why despite his earlier enthusiasm to achieve this state, it bothered him so much.

As a result of Jim’s resurfaced abilities, every attempt to start a more permanent relationship in the last few years had soon hit a brick wall, either because the women complained that Jim seemed secretive and withdrawn, or because there really was no acceptable explanation as to why he shared his apartment with another man, one that he apparently liked spending more time with than them. Blair also had this way of sneaking into Jim’s personal space, and Jim acted similarly around Blair, he couldn’t seem to help it—maybe it was a Sentinel-Guide thing, or maybe it was just too easy to forget boundaries when so many of the things they’d gone through had required stepping over them. He could see why that would seem odd to others, and if Jim couldn’t even reveal the reason behind their living arrangement, how could he ever tell anyone why he chose to keep his distance.

Ever since that first totally uncontrolled, Sentinel-level-sensual kiss with Carolyn, the memory of which still haunted him in both pleasant and unsettling ways, Jim had learned to be wary of situations where emotions ran high and proximity was involved. The last thing he needed was to zone out just because someone touched him. It had made sex an interesting exercise in balancing control and letting go, a skill Jim had honed to perfection, making the activity nothing short of enjoyable. But he missed the time before that kiss too; being able to be close to someone without having to fear what might happen. Probably why Jim enjoyed touching Blair so much, since he would never freak if Jim happened to phase out a bit.

And then there had been Alex Barnes. Now that was painfully close to the subject Jim didn’t want to approach, because it would always lead his mind to one thing. _Blair._ As if Blair’s near death hadn’t been enough of a shock, how Jim had begun to feel about him...

No. He was definitely not going there tonight. Taking another swig of his beer, Jim forced his mind to focus on the game until the thoughts faded, and went back to enjoying his hard earned solitude. In fact, he decided to celebrate it with several more beers.

Sleep came easier after that, but it was the only comfort the alcohol provided.

 

~~~

 

_Running, constantly running from something, but he didn’t know what it was. His feet hit the ground in rapid succession, strong legs pushing him forward through the jungle that never seemed to end. He was wearing his army gear, but his weapons were missing. He had no way to fight back if he was caught._

_"What are you running from, Enqueri?" A soft deep voice inquired, one that he knew so well, and it filled him with great joy, but also with great sadness. He slipped and rolled down a small hill before regaining his footing again. Breathless, he stood and warily scanned his surroundings._

_"I don’t know, Incacha. I don’t know," he whispered._

_"Then stop."_

_Something dark flashed amidst the thick foliage._

_"I can’t."_

_So he ran, every muscle in his body screaming with exhaustion._

 

~~~

 

Jim woke to a slow realization that something was wrong. The alarm clock blared by his bed, the sound of if blurred as if coming from a great distance, and the sheets against his skin seemed to have obtained an oddly oily feel, explained only in part by the fact that they were soaked in sweat. They were also wrapped tightly around his body, trapping him in a damp fabric cocoon. Groggy from sleep Jim wriggled out and reached to turn off the alarm. He hated the damn thing, it was too loud, but it wasn’t easy to find a clock with Sentinel suitable repertoire of sounds. Usually he managed to wake up before it even went off anyway. Old army habits died hard, and getting up at early hours had stuck with him since boot camp.

Carefully getting out of the bed, Jim stretched a little in an attempt to relieve the stiffness and ache of his limbs. He had no memory of seeing nightmares, but his tired muscles claimed the dreams hadn’t been too pleasant either; he’d been known to sleep restlessly on occasion, though never enough to induce effects comparable to a marathon level workout. Stumbling sleepily downstairs and into the shower, Jim wondered briefly why the floor felt so rubbery beneath his feet. _Must have been one weird ass dream to mess up my senses like that._

Thankfully the warm water falling on his skin seemed to wash away the abnormal sensations along with the sticky layer of perspiration. Jim stood under the soothing spray, adjusting his senses until it the pressure felt nice instead of stinging, and then quickly washed himself, and banished the beer induced morning breath with vigorous use of toothbrush and the blandest toothpaste available in the whole of Cascade. Well, he could only guess that was the case, since Blair had been the one to get it for Jim, along with the mildest of the mild soap and shampoo, both which still managed to carry a pleasant aroma instead of a purely industrial one. The kid sure had put a lot of effort into making a Sentinel's daily life more comfortable.

For a brief moment Jim considered calling Blair as he’d promised and telling him about the experience—had the guy been here, he probably would have been on the other side of the shower curtain chattering away, asking questions and taking notes by now. Jim smiled at the thought, suddenly wishing Blair really was. He missed hearing Blair talk. Immediately his hearing spiked, scanning the empty rooms for a sound that would not be there. _Damn it._

Jim had never fully realized how big the loft was for one person until now; the perpetually energetic and talkative anthropologist had a persona that managed to fill almost any space, and Jim’s place had been no exception. He turned off the water, and stood still, spanning out with his hearing until he could detect the muffled sounds coming in from the apartments around him, letting them fill the void and convince him he wasn’t alone. Or even worse, feeling lonely. The whole thing was slowly but surely spinning out of control and Jim couldn’t wait for what ever the hell was causing this to wear off. Being in the vicinity of the root of all his problems certainly wouldn’t help, so Jim decided it would be better not make the call to Blair.

Besides, there would be no point in intruding on Blair’s undoubtedly enjoyable time with his current girlfriend with something as trivial as a few funny sensations and dreams Jim couldn’t recall; for all he knew they could be a so far undiscovered reaction to the alcohol he’d consumed. At least that’s what he told himself. Jim grabbed a towel and dried off.

Now that he thought about it, Jim wasn’t actually sure if Blair and his travel partner were dating or not; he hadn’t really paid attention when Blair had told Jim where he was going, or who with. Jim had been too busy with their case at the time, and too tired to hear about another woman the younger man had managed to charm. In fact, he was too tired and busy to be thinking about that even now. Yet he couldn’t get rid of the tight knot in his stomach.

Hanging the towel to dry, Jim decided not to occupy his mind further with anything concerning Blair Sandburg. He was going to have a nice breakfast, get dressed— hell, he would even change the crumpled sheets while he was at it—and go to work and be happy with the world being back to its usual state. He could deal with everything else later. According to the weather report, the sun might even make an appearance, and things really couldn’t get any better than that, now could they.

 

~~~

 

"...ison. Ellison. Jim!" The captain’s voice slowly crept into Jim’s consciousness. He blinked a couple of times, and his vision returned, focusing on the mass of paper in front of him. Jim had barely cleared his desk of the first set of cold cases when had Simon dropped another—an even higher stack—in the emptied space. It looked untouched. Lifting his head, Jim found the worried figure of Simon looming over the files, eyeing him suspiciously. "Everything all right here?" he asked quietly.

"Nothing I can’t handle, captain," Jim told him casually, as if he just hadn’t nearly zoned out completely. It had been bugging him all day; there was something inexplicably weird about the way his surroundings smelled.

Jim could recognize all the usual scents of his co-workers and the office, and even the ominous stenches emanating from the people who’d visited all sorts of crime scenes during the day didn’t faze him. But for some reason Jim kept constantly expecting to get a whiff of something hinting of danger—the warning lights in his brain were blinking like crazy, telling him his nose should be getting a scent that just wasn’t there. He’d even made few trips throughout the building trying to locate the annoyingly absent thing, but naturally, had found nothing.

Right now however, his dust-irritated nose was assaulted by the strong aftershave Simon was wearing and the cigar in his hand. Jim quickly turned the mental dial down, and concentrated instead on the comforting chatter of the people around them.

"You’re sure?" Simon said, squinting at him with obvious doubt. "Because to me it looks like you’ve been frozen still and staring at those files for about fifteen minutes, and people are starting to notice." Simon was right, a few pairs of questioning eyes were already aimed at them, but seeing Jim glance in their direction, the gazes were quickly averted. "You know Sandburg said we should call him if anything happens. I don’t like him leaving you alone like this any more than he does." His tone was worried.

"Simon, I’m sure," Jim told him. "I just got distracted for a moment, happens to me just like to all the ‘ordinary’ people." It sounded so convincing he almost believed the words himself, but Jim added a confident smile to the mix just to be on the safe side—and then suddenly sneezed loudly. "Except for this damn dust, I’m fine," Jim said, and blew his poor nose on a tissue. They were piling up too; he’d need another box soon.

"You better be," was all Simon said, but at least he had the decency to look a little guilty.

"A whole week of this and my nose is going to shut down for good," Jim grumbled with a wheezy voice.

"Fine, I’ll see if I can think of something else for you to do," the captain acquiesced, and for a second Jim had his hopes up, only to have them crushed again. "But you’re still not going out in the field. Finish those up and go home for today, and if I don’t see you back at this desk tomorrow, I’m putting you on mandatory leave." Sticking the stogie back in his mouth, the captain, having obviously decided the conversation was over, returned to his office.

Jim waited until Simon finally closed the door behind him, and then sighed deeply. This whole ‘can you manage on your own’ thing was starting to get really old really fast. But even though Jim hated the idea of spending any more time at his desk, his eagerness to work in the field was fading. It wouldn’t be the same without Blair. Jim had become more than a little dependent on their collaboration, knowing someone had his back if things went south with his abilities, to a point where working without his partner had become less desirable than returning to going solo. The fact that Jim had grown to enjoy Blair’s company in more ways than one played a part in that too.

"Judging by your face I’d say you must be feeling like a shag on a rock by now," Megan Connors said as she sat down on the narrow slice of clear space at the edge of Jim’s desk.

"I don’t have time for this, Megan, and as you can see, my ‘down under’ translator is on vacation at the moment." Jim told her without looking up, grabbing the topmost of the accursed files with one hand and a fresh tissue with another. "Don’t you have someone else you could go and pester, I’m kinda busy here."

"It means you look lonely, Jim," Megan replied softly, laying a hand on Jim’s shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. "We all miss him, but you know Sandy always comes back to you, don’t ya?" Jim froze. There was no mistaking the implication being made here; he was being treated like he was _pining_ for Blair. _This is getting ridiculous!_ But before Jim could deliver a denial, Megan patted his shoulder and leaned in to whisper: "You should make him stay for good, you’re way too cranky without him," before getting up and leaving.

If he hadn’t been irritated before, Jim sure as hell was now. Well they could just watch him handle things on his own. He'd survived the damn jungle for eighteen months, he could manage a few days without Sandburg. Jim opened the folder, and started to read, trying to shove the image of Blair's smiling face out of his mind. He succeeded after a while, but he still couldn't ignore the creepy feeling of impending doom in his head.

In the end, he had no choice but to dial down his senses until he felt almost numb.

 

~~~

 

Rain was beating hard on the car by the time Jim parked outside of his apartment building. _So much for the nice weather_ , he thought moodily as he climbed out of the car and ran straight to the door and inside, and started his climb up the stairs to his place. Jim's head ached, the low insistent throbbing brought on by the strain of keeping all of his dials way down all day.

He’d made the mistake of staying late at work in order to finish the whole pile of folders, just to get rid of them. He didn’t mind the extra hours, the quiet isolation at home no longer holding quite the same appeal it had during previous days. Not simply because Blair wasn’t there—Jim made a point of reminding himself that he certainly didn’t miss the clutter the guy left around, or the string of female visitors he kept bringing to his room—but because the crowded office had made it easier to push away the nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite as it should be. Reaching the door, Jim still couldn’t grasp what was missing, but there was definitely a hole of some kind in his sensory universe.

Fumbling with the keys Jim finally managed to get the lock open with his nearly desensitized fingers. Even with his sense of touch dialed to near zero, after handling paper for hours it had become too coarse for them to bear. Accompanied by a litany of selected expletives, Jim entered the apartment and slammed the door behind him. He took off his coat in darkness, since turning on the lights didn’t seem like a good idea and he didn’t need them anyway. He threw the keys on the kitchen table before searching the fridge for a beer. Maybe that would take the edge off of the pain, of everything. If last night was anything to go by, alcohol still seemed to work on the Sentinel, even if painkillers always didn’t.

Blocking his sense of smell almost entirely had worked at first—both with the weirdly absent odours as well as the dust—but then Jim’s eyes had started acting up, translucent shadows drifting like ghosts across his vision. Lowering his sight to a level that made him feel blind as a bat had bought a moment’s reprieve. But when he’d tried the coffee, thinking caffeine withdrawal might be the cause of the pain behind his eyes and maybe even the wispy apparitions, instead of the usual pleasant bitterness he had encountered a taste that had been a cross between mushroom soup and strawberries, and his tongue had insisted that the liquid was somehow textured like gravel. After that it had been easier to just dull _all_ the senses than to wait for the next interesting experience his body had in store for him. It had helped, but the headache had steadily grown worse.

A soothingly cold beer in hand, Jim moved on to the couch and prepared to open the bottle, but all of a sudden didn’t feel like drinking it after all. The memory of the terrible coffee was still too fresh in his mind. He held on to the bottle anyway, the cool solidness of it somehow comforting against his skin. Closing his eyes, Jim slowly eased up on the tight control he held everything under, and let the sound of the rain wash over the collection of noises the other occupants of the building were creating. It was such a hippy, Sandburg-like thing to listen to, the erratic but steady rhythm almost meditative, but it actually helped and calmed Jim down. Blair would be so proud of him. Jim laughed quietly, remembering all those times Blair had forced him to listen to different kinds of ‘native this’ and ‘native that’ music in an effort to help Jim focus.

Yet no amount of rain could have overtaken the scents. As soon as Jim’s still slightly stuffy nose got used to its restored ability they were there—Jim had forgotten how much the apartment smelled of all things Blair now that he was living there again. It shouldn’t have caused Jim’s breath hitch the way it did, or make his hands ache to touch and mouth to kiss. It shouldn’t have made Jim feel anything at all, not after years of learning how to ignore the effect Blair had on him. Jim groaned and lifted the cold bottle against his forehead to battle both the headache and the confusion, and pondered briefly if these were just the first signs of him going insane.

_Maybe he really should call Blair. It wouldn’t hurt to have some advice on how to handle this._

As if Blair had been reading his mind, the phone on the living room table rang—Jim put his hand down, still gripping the bottle for comfort, and picked up the phone with the other—and who else would it be if not the enthusiastic anthropologist.

_"Hey there, Jim, how are things in rainy Cascade?"_

"Rainy," Jim replied slightly irately, yet he couldn’t help but smile at the sound of Blair’s happy voice. It felt too good to hear it. "How’s the trip going?" he asked while leaning back against the sofa and shutting his eyes again.

 _"It’s been amazing, the festivities for Dia de los Muertos are in full swing, and Toni and I have been just walking around eating sugar skulls and taking in all the sights and sounds."_ Ah, so it was Toni, and Mexico; Jim now vaguely remembered Blair mentioning some gorgeous blonde, an old fling who’d come to visit, and how they were going across the border to enjoy the ‘Day of the Dead’. That explained the background murmur of music and people that must be crowding the streets outside the hotel. To Jim’s relief, the headache began to slowly recede. All he needed was to listen to Blair and the pain disappeared.

 _"I know it’s not my first time taking part, but every time I come here, I’m just overwhelmed by it all, especially the people and how they can take something like death, that our culture almost inherently sees as something sad and grim and gloomy, and turn it into a thing of such beauty and joy, that not only celebrates death as a natural part of our journey, but also life itself."_ Jim could practically hear the wide grin on the anthropologist’s face, the sparkle in those eyes. Yet he was barely aware of the fact that he could only hear Blair’s heartbeat over the line, or that he’d even tried listening for a second one.

_"Did I tell you that some scholars trace the origins of Dia de los Muertos to certain indigenous observances dating back hundreds of years, and an Aztec festival dedicated to the goddess Mictecacihuatl, queen of the underworld?" She is represented even in the modern day celebrations, though elements of Christianity have been adapted as well, like crosses and statues of the Blessed Virgin Mary that hey have on these altars that—"_

Jim let the familiar voice flood over him and chase away the tension that had built up during the long day. He listened quietly, interrupting the in-depth descriptions only intermittently, mainly to let the other know that he was still on the other end of the line rather than to actually comment on anything, the neglected beer in his hand getting lukewarm with the passing time. A sense of calm gradually flowed over Jim, spreading outwards in waves of comfort from where he held the phone.

 _"Jim, you still there?"_ The question’s more serious tone pulled Jim back from his near zone-out.

"Yeah, Chief, still here, just almost asleep from listening to your lecture," he replied, trying to sound slightly bored as he set the bottle down on the floor, blindly wiping the condensed moisture still clinging to his hand on his sweats. He still wanted to focus more on hearing than seeing, as a precautionary measure. Then Blair asked the question Jim had been dreading all along.

 _"How are your senses, anything unusual happen while I’ve been here?"_ He sounded deceptively nonchalant, but Jim still noticed the minute tremors of concern in his voice. The ensuing silence of trying to decide whether to tell Blair about recent events or not stretched out too long to be natural; Jim heard Blair stand up from the creaky hotel bed he’d apparently been sitting on, his pulse becoming more rapid.

 _"Jim, tell me."_ The plea sounded so worried that Jim found himself almost yielding and doing as asked, but something stopped him. Maybe it was his injured pride, boasting that Jim didn’t need someone to constantly baby sit him, he’d survived the jungle, and the city was just one of a different kind and he would survive that too. _In Peru, you had Incacha_ , his mind insisted on pointing out, but Jim ignored the thought. Maybe he just honestly thought that Blair deserved some time off too, time spent without having to keep watch on the Sentinel and risking his life while doing so.

Whatever the reason, Jim chose to lie to his guide.

"It’s nothing I can’t handle," he told Blair like he’d told Simon, with the same falsely assuring tone. "Just having some mildly odd sensory feedback occasionally, probably just from not sleeping enough and being cooped up inside all the time now that Simon has me chained to my desk going through old unsolved cases."

 _"You’re sure?"_ The question was worried and hesitant, like Blair wasn’t completely buying into Jim’s story but didn’t want to pry too hard for more details in fear of Jim just hanging up on him. _Damn the guy was just too sharp sometimes._ Jim hated that he’d made Blair feel so wary of him. Maybe somewhere deep down the younger man still worried he might get kicked out again.

 _"‘Cause I’ll come back if you need me, I mean, not that Mexico isn’t incredibly fascinating and fun, but you know you’re more important to me."_ Jim didn't doubt Blair's words, but God how Jim wished he could believe Blair wasn’t talking about just being there for a friend, or for a Sentinel.

"I’m sure, Chief," Jim forced the words out of his mouth with a casual note. "You stay there and enjoy the rest of your vacation. Just don’t eat too many sugar skulls, they’ll rot your teeth. And stay clear of the mezcal, the hangover is a killer."

 _"Will do,"_ Blair replied with a brief chuckle, clearly a little more at ease than he was a moment ago, if not totally certain he should trust what Jim was saying. But his desire to be back in the midst of local people and festivities won over in the end. _"Listen, I gotta go, I promised Toni to make just a quick phone call before we head out again, and it’s been way over an hour already. I’ll be back in a few days, with plenty of souvenirs."_

"Okay, see you then."

_"Bye."_

A few seconds of silence broken only by the sound of Blair's breathing and his slowly steadying heartbeat, and then the click that indicated the call was over. Reluctantly Jim hung up too, and set the phone down. The fading warmth of Blair’s voice was replaced by the incessant rhythm of the rain. It sounded colder than before, more forlorn as it echoed off the walls.

Suddenly an indistinct emptiness crept over Jim, somehow familiar but unlike any he'd experienced before that day—he registered it faintly with all of his senses, a lack of something he couldn’t name or define. It didn’t even remotely resemble a physical feeling like hunger or thirst. Nor was it similar to the loneliness he felt either, though considering the situation that was also an alternative. Whatever this was, it was different.

Slowly Jim opened his eyes to the grey gloom of the living room, hoping that seeing his surroundings would make the sensation disappear. The emptiness of it only echoed with the one inside him, and his misbehaving senses. Almost involuntarily they reached out, like tendrils searching for the ever elusive piece of the puzzle, finding nothing. Instead they latched on to what was already there, isolating from the mixture of scents in the air the one that had always captivated him. Jim rose up and followed it, straight to the door of Blair’s room and inside before he could stop himself.

To his opened up senses the effect was overwhelming. The scent hung thick in the air, and Jim could almost _taste_ Blair with every breath. He quickly staggered out and slammed the door shut, retreating away from it until his back hit the sturdy wooden pillar standing in the corner of the kitchen. The eerie emptiness had subsided, only to be replaced by another kind of need, one that Jim had recently become intimately familiar with. Tonight he didn’t have the strength to resist it, and fortunately, didn’t have to. Jim slowly staggered in to the bathroom, throwing off his clothes on the way.

 

~~~

 

Why he liked the feeling of water Jim wasn’t quite sure, but off all the places to masturbate, the shower was one of his favourites. Maybe it was because he could easily vary the feel of the water, letting it fall on him gently or with biting pressure—it was the closest thing to having someone actually touch him, made only better by the lack of mental restraint required. None would have worked now anyway.

Already shivering under the flow caressing his skin, Jim let himself for once enjoy the benefits of his heightened ability to feel. In contrast to the soft currents of pleasure coursing along the tracks of the water, the movement of his hand created sharply spiking pulses, reaching their peak and then fading—over and over and over again—their intensity building up over time and radiating outwards, until Jim could feel each one with his whole body. Sometimes he would prolong that stage for as long as he could, but tonight he was too impatient, driving himself over the edge faster than usual and losing himself in the orgasm. For a moment, all other senses shut down, all thought ceased, and he just _felt._

The first breath he took brought everything back in a rush, saturating his senses with signals, and Jim quickly reset his dials back to tolerable levels. That was the other thing about having sex—afterwards your senses were so open to the world it left you vulnerable to things too many to count.

But the headache was gone, as was the strange hunger of his senses. Jim still had no doubt that one or both would return at some point, unless he could learn what was happening to him, and how to control it. All he could hope for was that all this was just a passing phase, brought on by his experiences in the jungle temple in Sierra Verde. Forcing the senses down to a level of near numbness again, Jim washed up and brushed his teeth. Then he climbed upstairs and crawled under the covers, using sheer force of will to stay still until sleep finally found him.

 

~~~

 

_The undergrowth was thicker now, the trees closer together—branches and sharp edges of leaves cut and scratched him as he passed them. He was so hungry, so thirsty, but he couldn’t stop to eat or drink, he had to keep running. But he could feel his body weakening, his pace slowing down, and the hidden hunter gaining on him._

_"Enqueri, you must stop running, must face it." Hearing the voice of his friend offered little consolation this time._

_"No." His denial was even weaker than his body._

_"In the end, you will have no choice," Incacha told him, with deep compassion, and terrifying certainty._

_He didn’t have time to think about what Incacha meant._

~~~

 

Jim woke up sick to his stomach, sweating and almost ready to throw up. _Wrong. Things were so wrong._

He hurriedly stumbled out of the bed and raced to the bathroom downstairs, the dim light of the pinkly hued grey dawn more than enough illumination for his eyes despite the murky shapes hovering at the edge of his vision. Leaning over the sink Jim retched violently, but not having eaten anything last night— _how had he not remembered to eat?_ —meant there was nothing to come up except bitter, acidic liquid. After his cramping muscles finally settled down Jim turned on the faucet, letting the water run until it was icy cold, and bent down to drink huge gulps of it. Instead of water it was like swallowing frozen feathers, itchy in his mouth and on the way down, but at least it dampened the fire in his throat.

When he’d had his fill, Jim turned off the flow and slowly crumpled into a shivering heap on the bathroom floor. His body felt like he’d been running all night, stiff and sore all over, his legs most of all. He couldn’t understand how that was possible, but at least the pain of it was a familiar feeling he could cling on to. Jim could still hear the rain, and oddly it was the only thing that seemed to be making sense.

What should have been solid tiles underneath him seemed to be undulating nauseatingly. Getting up was like standing on the deck of a ship, bringing up unpleasant memories of dark seas. Yet what he felt under his bare feet was reminiscent of... grass? Wobbling unsteadily out of the bathroom, Jim was bombarded with sounds and smells that he couldn’t tell apart or filter out, all of them distorted on some level. They were not what he was seeking, not what he _needed_.

As he reached the living room, lights and shadows twisting around him, head spinning with chaotic signals from his senses, something grabbed his attention; a scent, familiar, close. Without a conscious thought Jim wandered to its source, letting it wrap around him and close off the world as he fell on something soft, curled up and sank into oblivion.

 

~~~

 

 _Blair_.

Reaching out Jim found nothing, even though the essence of the other man surrounded him, almost tangibly. Jim opened his eyes to a foreign landscape. It took several confused seconds to get his bearings—he was in Blair’s bedroom, lying naked on an opulently pillowed bed. Jim’s recollection on how he’d ended up there was hazy, but he remembered the floor swaying, and being on the verge of losing his mind. Now the world seemed coherent and ordered again, if you excluded the location, as if it all had been nothing more than a very vivid nightmare. Still, there was no doubt in Jim’s mind that it had all been real.

_What the hell was going on?_

A heavy fist pounding on a door interrupted Jim’s thoughts. _Simon_. Jim could tell from the way the hand met the wood, like it was ordering it to open and expecting to be obeyed sooner rather than later. Not to mention that the combination of cologne and cigars that drifted to Jim’s nose could only belong to one man. Groaning as he got up Jim scanned the room for something to wear. He hastily pulled on the nearest thing resembling a robe he could find, glanced at it and groaned again, before gathering what remained of his dignity and staggered to open the door before Simon would break it down.

"What, mine was in the wash," Jim grumpily answered the puzzled stare greeting him.

"Nothing, never seen you in a silk kimono before that’s all," Simon said cheekily as he brushed past Jim into the apartment. "Though I have to say, that shade of red ain’t your colour."

 _Isn’t Blair’s either_ , Jim thought as he leaned his head against the doorframe, not far from fainting again; the damned thing probably belonged to some of Blair’s ‘visitors’. Jim was itching to get out off it already.

"Just tell me what you want already," Jim said wearily, closing the door and turning to meet the probing gaze of the captain.

"Well you didn’t show up for work and didn’t answer you phone, so I felt it my responsibility in Sandburg’s absence to be the guy to come over and pester you with questions like ‘how do you feel’ and ‘is something wrong’," Simon replied in his usual ‘tell me again why I put up with you’ manner, but Jim didn’t need to use his heightened senses to tell the captain was genuinely worried. _I must look like crap._ He certainly felt like it.

"I was wearing earplugs and I overslept," he lied. Well, it was mostly true, though instead of sleeping he’d been out like a light. "I was just about to call you and ask for a sick day, feel this awful cold coming on," Jim kept spinning the tale as he hobbled to the couch and slumped on it with a thud. He didn’t need to exaggerate the weakness of his condition.

"Granted," Simon stated as magnanimously as only he could. "But you’re not getting rid of me that easy." Jim heard Simon remove his coat and hang it on a nail. Turning his head back awkwardly, Jim saw the captain walk into the kitchen and roll up the sleeves of his shirt before he began rummaging around the fridge.

"What are you doing?" Jim grumbled, unhappy about the invasion of his privacy and food supplies, but his empty stomach just growled approvingly at the thought of anything edible. That at least was a good sign.

"I’m going to make you a late breakfast," Simon answered determinately, "and you’re damn well going to eat it even if it kills you, because you look like you’ve got one foot in the grave already." Jim was simply too weak to argue.

Instead he left Simon to his cooking and decided to make a wobbly tour upstairs, to get rid of the offending item of brightly coloured clothing, which he would burn later, and change into a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a worn t-shirt. Shower would have to wait until he felt strong enough to stand for extended periods of time.

Soon the mouth-watering smells of frying eggs and bacon and fresh coffee floated in the air. But all through the delicious breakfast—one that Jim ate with deliberate slowness, savouring each flavour and the fact that they tasted exactly as they should taste like—the one thing sharpest in his mind was the scent lingering on his skin like an invisible residue from the bed he had lain in.

_Blair._

 

~~~

 

Having a full stomach did a lot to improve Jim’s condition. Apart from still having an overly nosy captain fussing around in his kitchen and feeling a little woozy, Jim had no complaints. But he suspected that was about to change.

"Now, are you going to tell me what’s really wrong with you, or do I have to call Sandburg and tell him to haul his ass over ASAP?" Simon asked gravely as he sat across the table from Jim, drying his hands in a towel. He’d offered to clear the table and had even been gracious enough to do the dishes while Jim had enjoyed his coffee. "And don’t you dare say it’s nothing. I’ve known you long enough to tell the difference between ‘nothing’ and ‘ _nothing_ ’." The way he glared at Jim and slammed the towel on the table didn’t leave much to the imagination; Simon knew he was hiding something, and wasn’t about to give up until he found out what. Jim gave a resigned sigh.

"I’ve had a few... episodes in the last few days, where my senses seem to... get confused." It was hard explaining something he himself was nowhere near of understanding.

"Confused how?" Simon asked, his brow creasing with thought.

"Like something’s _twisted_ ," Jim replied, for the lack of a better word. "Like I'm losing touch with reality. The floor isn’t solid, I hear flavours and smell sounds... Or my senses keep telling me they should be registering something that isn’t there, like they’re—," he had to pause and think, not really sure how to describe the feeling, "—like they’re longing for something." That sounded strange even to his own ears. Jim didn’t really consider himself a ‘longing’ kind of person, but crazy as it seemed, he had to admit the word had the right ring to it. "And think I’m having some crazy action-filled nightmares, but I can’t remember them."

Simon seemed to be considering the information for a long time, surprisingly calmly though; Jim had expected to encounter disbelief, not serious contemplation.

"When did this all start?" he asked.

"A couple of nights ago, I think," Jim replied. He recalled the first emergence of the symptoms well, but wondered if there had been earlier signs he had missed, or dismissed as insignificant. Simon kept watching Jim quizzically, as if trying to decipher the clues on his face.

"And it never occurred to you to tell me?" he asked, not as angrily as he should have in Jim’s opinion. "Even I can see that this is nothing like your usual set of problems, and I would have thought that you trusted me more than to hide it."

"There was nothing to tell," Jim said, burying his head in his hands for a moment. "At least that’s what I thought. I expected the whole thing to just blow over in a couple of days, I didn’t even tell Sandburg about this."

"Well maybe you should have talked to him, you obstinate idiot," Simon scolded him, but without anger, "long before this thing you have for him got this out of hand." And there it was again, the same insane insinuation.

"You too?" Jim protested loudly, rising up with enough speed to knock the chair over. "I don’t know where you or Connor got this idea into your head, but there is no ‘thing’. I’ll admit it, I’ve come to care about Blair, he is my friend, and almost losing him hasn’t been the easiest thing to deal with, but what you’re suggesting is, is—" Jim stopped to look at Simon long enough to know he’d been caught. He lowered his head again, staring at the floor. "Does everyone know? Was I that obvious?" he asked quietly.

"No, but I am a detective after all, not to mention your friend," Simon replied. "I just wish I’d been more of the meddling kind instead of keeping my mouth shut, and all of this might have been avoided. Guess we both could have learned something from Sandburg." The odd confession made Jim laugh briefly.

"You never did tell me what happened between the two of you when Blair died," Simon said all of a sudden.

Jim swallowed hard, shocked by the shift in topic. He’d avoided thinking about that day because it made him uneasy on so many levels, painfully reminding Jim of what he had almost lost, and the powers he had discovered in that moment of despair; both disturbed him equally.

Apparently something of that transferred into his expression, causing the watchful Simon to shake his head and sigh. "And I can see you’re not too eager to talk about it now either," he said quietly, and stood up. Simon walked over to the door, rolling down his sleeves and buttoning them at the cuff, and then threw on his coat.

"I’ve done what I can by feeding you, but other than that, I can’t offer you any good advice—we both know all of this Sentinel stuff is Sandburg’s area of expertise, and the rest, well that’s for the two of you to figure out," he noted calmly as he fished a cigar case from the breast pocket, and pulled out a half-smoked stogie. "But I will suspend you from your duties for now." Jim nodded silently, offering no objections. At his current state, he was nothing but a liability, a risk the department or Simon couldn’t afford to take.

"I’ll be coming over later to see how you’re doing," Simon said as he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. "In the meantime, call him, Jim."

A quiet click and Jim was alone again. He listened to the steadily weakening sound of Simon’s steps as they descended the stairs and disappeared out of his current hearing range. Then he finally took that badly needed shower, slightly regretful afterwards when he realized he only smelled of himself, and mild soap.

 

~~~

 

There was no answer from the hotel. Maybe it was siesta, or they were just too busy to pick up the phone, who knew, but Jim would have to try again later. Right now he needed to think, and he always thought best on his feet. Staying indoors had only made Jim's thoughts go around in circles; it was like being on a mad merry-go-round with a broken tune that drove you nuts and horses you kept falling off of. So when the grey clouds scattered a little, at least enough to turn a heavy downpour of rain into a mere drizzle, Jim went in search of his sneakers.

Running in the light rain felt good, the air was damp but fresh and the wet pavement under Jim’s feet was secure and solid. At first his achy muscles resisted, but Jim pushed on with grim determination. He’d gradually let his senses reach a little farther as he ran, and so far things seemed to be working fine. Stopping for a moment in a park, Jim performed a few long-range tests with his sight and hearing while he stretched his legs. Everything he saw and heard was as clear as ever, enough proof that he was in control of his abilities again, for now if not forever. Jim still decided to keep running; exercise always had a positive effect on his moods, and he could really use some cheering up today. Picking a suitably strenuous but still leisurely pace, Jim cut through the park and continued along the riverbank.

No matter how much he tried wrapping his mind around the thing, Jim couldn’t figure out what had gone wrong with him in the first place. He could pose theories about the contributing factors, like work related stress or the burden of keeping his abilities a secret, but none explained the suddenness and intensity of his symptoms, or the nightmares which he couldn't remember. He felt lost. It was always Blair that helped Jim find the answers to problems concerning his abilities, found a way to look at things from angles Jim's brain didn’t bend to.

Jim understood only a fraction of all the stuff the Blair kept talking about—even when he wasn’t being as cryptic as Incacha had been—and just as much about how the whole Sentinel thing worked, and his dismissal of all things spiritual or mystical in nature didn’t help matters along. Certain events that had taken place in the passing years had, however, persuaded Jim to open his mind to even those possibilities.

Like when Blair had died.

Crossing a bridge, Jim stopped for a breather when he reached the middle of it, gazing over the side at the dark waters below. He still remembered how cold Blair had felt when they’d pulled him out of the pond, how limp and lifeless his body had been as they’d laid him down on the grass. He’d done his best trying to revive Blair, unable to believe he could not succeed. The medics had arrived and declared Blair dead after a while, but against all evidence Jim had refused to give up, knowing somehow deep in his heart that Blair had not left him. To this day he didn’t couldn't explain why, but Jim had been right.

Gripping the cold metal railing didn’t stop Jim’s hands from remembering how the energy had flowed between them when he’d brought Blair back. His palms tingled and glowed with warmth, as the vision of the wolf filled his mind. Jim could still see it, _feel_ it, as if it had happened yesterday. How strange the shape of the panther had been, but he’d slid into it effortlessly. He’d sensed the wolf before he’d seen it, and had run straight towards it, the heart of both the man and the beast racing with fear of not making it on time. But they had, and had melded with the wolf, with Blair, and brought him back to life.

The relief of hearing Blair’s heartbeat, seeing him cough out the water and then _breathe_ —Jim felt it as intensely now as back then. Something between them had changed that day, imperceptibly, but in a way that Jim felt down to his bones. When he’d learned they had shared the vision, Jim had understood that they were linked on a level he could not comprehend, and would perhaps never even begin to. And it had scared the hell out of him.

 _"Come on in man, the water’s nice,"_ Blair had said later on, laying in the hospital bed, the invitation clear in his voice.

 _"Chief, I don’t know if I’m ready to take that trip with you,_ " Jim had replied and Blair had done his best to not look disappointed, but Jim had sensed it nonetheless. Jim just hadn't been ready to take that step then.

He wasn't sure if he would ever be. After experiencing something like that he’d still remained sceptical, refusing to even attempt forming a connection like that with Blair again despite the younger man’s numerous pleas. Now Jim was beginning to wonder if it was more due to his fear of what he actually might discover than his lack of faith.

Jim let go of the railing and started running again, heading back home. He had no choice anymore, he needed to call Blair before his senses decided to go haywire again. He couldn’t do this alone anymore, nor did he want to.

 

~~~

 

"Well did he leave a message?" All Jim got in response was something garbled in Spanish, and then the concierge hung up, clearly not appreciating Jim’s interrogatory tone of voice. "Damn it..."

So, Blair and his companion had left the hotel, maybe just for the day, or maybe to travel around the countryside a bit, Jim hadn't been able to make out enough of what had been told. Jim recalled he’d seen Blair pack a small tent, so it was possible they'd left the hotel altogether.

Like Blair had said, he’d be back in a few days, Jim could hang on for that long, right? He put the phone down and sat on the couch, staring out through the large windows of the balcony doors. _Just a few more days, piece of cake._

He managed a full twenty seven minutes before picking up the phone and calling the hotel again.

 

~~~

 

The day passed with excruciating slowness, and increasing restlessness. Jim tried the hotel three more times, aggravating probably every single person in the reception staff, before deciding it was pointless; Blair was beyond his reach. The feeling of being disconnected was beginning to be almost unbearable.

Simon had stopped by in the early evening again. He'd cooked a light meal but Jim had eaten only half of it, his appetite waning already. They'd talked about things like fishing, sports, cigars, and how Simon's son Darryl was doing at school—ordinary things that helped alleviate the growing uneasiness inside Jim.

Then Simon had gotten an urgent call from the station, forcing him to go back. Before leaving he'd promised to make some inquiries while there, to see if the local authorities in Mexico could help in getting in touch with Blair. Simon had also promised to come over and stay the night, and despite Jim’s initial desire to protest, he'd given in and had let Simon take the spare key. Jim could be proud and stubborn, but right now he'd be downright stupid not to accept Simon's help.

After being left alone again, Jim tried distracting himself by watching TV, reading a book, and even listening to some of Blair's music while meditating for crying out loud. None of it relieved Jim's anxiety—as if the simple realization that he needed help had broken the last wall he’d set up between himself and his fears.

Jim had no idea what was happening to him, and no way of telling how long he had until another freakish meltdown happened. Even if it never did, a hope he desperately tried to cling to, the shadow of fear would hang over him as long as Jim couldn’t figure it out. And for that, he needed his guide. More than that, he needed Blair.

Jim could feel the eerie emptiness inching its way in again, making the walls cave in on him until it came too much to take. He needed to get out. He needed to run.

 

~~~

 

The cold air was easier to breathe, and the wide open, if heavily clouded, sky above Jim made his mind clearer and the burden of his thoughts easier to bear.

What if his condition couldn’t be fixed, even with Blair’s help? What if the inevitable conclusion to all this was that he would gradually lose even the last remains of his control over his senses, and eventually his mind? Apart from Alex, there weren’t any examples of how any full Sentinel had learned to cope with their abilities, and that wasn’t too promising. Maybe they all went insane in the end? That would certainly explain why there weren’t too many Sentinels around with all five senses active.

Jim briefly shook his head. Blair would never let Jim think like that. He would stubbornly refuse to believe that Jim couldn’t win any obstacle he faced, as long as he tried hard enough. If only Jim had as much faith in himself as Blair did, or even half of Blair's openness of mind, his willingness to look beyond the surface of the physical world and accept that some things could not be explained by reason. Maybe then Jim wouldn’t have to constantly struggle so hard to understand what and who he was. It was one of life’s ironies that the mantle of Sentinel had fallen on a man who didn’t know how to wear it, instead of the man on whom it would have fit like a second skin—a man that Jim had fallen, and still kept falling for.

So gradual had the process been, that Jim could not pick a single moment to point out as being pivotal. The state of not loving Blair had shifted into loving him without Jim’s knowledge, until he couldn’t ignore it anymore. So he’d just hidden it beneath layers of doubt and denial, because he couldn’t take the pain of seeing Blair with others. And there had been so many others. Now Jim was left with no choice; he would have to tell Blair, and it might irreparably alter their relationship, and in the end he might be left alone no matter what he did.

Tiring of thought and of the confusion in his head, Jim focused on his feet. He went on running aimlessly through the streets for hours and hours, pushing his body to the limit, his only goal to drain his body completely so he might sleep.

Eventually the sky grew darker, and the rain closed in on the city again, the heavy curtain of it finally driving Jim home. Simon hadn’t come back yet, which meant whatever he’d been called in for must have taken longer than expected.

So worn out that he simply peeled off his wet clothes and left them lying around, Jim just about managed to take a quick shower and brush his teeth before becoming too tired to stand. He instinctively steered towards the bedroom on the first floor, and buried himself between the sheets and amongst the pillows that enveloped him in the comforting embrace of a familiar scent, and succumbed to darkness.

 

~~~

 

_His legs refused to carry his weight anymore, giving away and dropping him on the slick, muddy ground of the small clearing. How long had it been raining? Seemed like forever._

_With what little strength he had left, he crawled to a nearby boulder and struggled into a sitting position, leaning his back against the cold, rough surface._

_Where was his hunter? Why was he still alive?_

_"Incacha..." I came out as barely a whisper._

_"I am here, Enqueri." The voice was by his ear, comforting, encouraging._

_A dark form emerged from the forest. Edging towards him, it slowly began to take shape._

_"Be strong, Enqueri, wait, he will come." Then there was only the steady thrum of the rain._

_The midnight black panther stood only a few feet from him, teeth bared. He closed his eyes, and waited for the inevitable._

_All he felt was the rain._

_All he felt_

                was the rain.

A part of Jim understood that he wasn’t in the jungle. Somehow he’d managed to crawl out to the balcony, and now he sat naked under the rain, his back against the coarse brick railing, as his world reeled. His senses were reaching as far as they could, seeking, _yearning_. Trying to find what wasn’t there. His eyes were open, seeing nothing but searing brightness that twisted and swirled, his ears heard nothing but the loud static of millions upon millions of sounds overlapping each other. He could smell and taste every particle in the air surrounding him, making every breath he was forced to take a moment of sensory torment. He would have screamed if he could. Eventually even the thin barriers separating one sense from another began to crumble, letting things bleed over and meld, creating all new horrors for him.

But he felt the rain, falling on his skin, soothing him; grounding his mind, binding it to this body, keeping him from disappearing completely.

Even through all the chaos he could still sense the presence of the panther somewhere nearby. It was waiting for something. Perhaps for the moment when the rain would stop.

The need within him was writhing, reaching into every last part of him, the desire to find the missing part of his reality and grasp/hold/caress creating a tangible ache in the palms of his hands. Everything else was... becoming a...... blur...

 

~~~

 

.....? ..........!

...m ca........r me? Foc....n m.....ce!

_There was a sound, somewhere, so incredibly far away._

_Jim opened his eyes and saw a blur of dark colours swirling, taking shape of trees rocks, grass... Eyes. They were yellow, a few feet from where he sat. The panther stared at him through the rain, just standing there, unmoving, quiet, and finally Jim saw it properly. It was starved, the curves of the ribs visible on its sides, the once shiny fur now matt and covered in mud. The animal’s mouth hung open, releasing ragged breaths in a too fast rhythm, as the once mighty hunter silently swayed on the verge of falling over, and then fell. It was dying._

_No, they were both dying. Why were they dying? Jim wanted to ask Incacha, but didn’t have the strength to make a sound. He wanted to tell Blair he was sorry that he had failed. The rain was so cold, each drop that fell eating away the time he had left._

_There was that sound again. And warmth? Cradling his face, like fingers made of sunlight._

_Something flowed into the world, whispers that became louder, a silvery shape that grew out of the mist on the ground. It took one look at the panther and let out a long howl that was so full of despair it threatened to tear Jim apart. For a moment he thought the panther had died already, but then he saw it was still breathing, chest heaving laboriously._

_The wolf turned its eyes on Jim, and the whispers turned into words._

_"Jim, can you hear me? Focus on my voice!" Demanding, desperate, familiar._

_Blair? I need, I need to... Nothing had ever felt as difficult as trying to utter that name._

_"Blair?" The wolf was by his side in a few easy strides, mouth grabbing him by the shirt and pulling, commanding him to get up._

_"Jim, listen to me, you have to move, you have to reach the panther, do you hear me?" How could Blair sound so calm? "I don’t know how long you two have been apart, but you have to let it back in. If you don’t, you will die, and I’m not going to let that happen." Apart, what did he mean? The wolf growled and pulled again, hard enough to tear the wet fabric and graze his skin with its teeth. Energy was surging into Jim, warm, intense... alive._

_"NOW MOVE!"_

_He obeyed without question. With a roar Jim pushed off the ground, scrambled the short distance to the panther and fell beside it, breathless from the effort and spraying water and mud as he landed. The animal lifted its head, and then gradually, with a pained sound, rose to its feet. Hovering over Jim, it was still it waiting for something. The wolf moved to Jim’s side again, whining quietly, pressing a paw to his chest, pleading._

_"Jim, please, you have to give your consent." Jim would have, but wasn’t sure what that meant._

_"A Sentinel is always a Sentinel, if he chooses to be, remember? But you can’t just choose the parts that make sense to you, you have to accept the whole package, including the things you can’t put into words or apply logic to." The wolf lay down, resting its head on Jim’s shoulder. "Please, you have to come back to me..."_

_Choice, permission. He had denied a part of himself, had run from it. But you could only run so far from yourself._

_"Yes," he sighed into the rain, answering both the animal and the man. The panther lifted a paw and placed it next to the silver furred one on Jim's chest, finally touching his Sentinel._

Everything exploded into light, and life. It hurt, it hurt so much.

"Jim? Jim can you hear me? Focus on my voice." The sound pierced through everything, drawing the attention of all of Jim’s senses, warping his reality into _this, here, him_ and shutting everything else out. He could breathe again.

"Jim, look at me, focus on me, only on me." Jim could see the deep blue eyes in front of him become clear, looking both angry and sad and relieved at the same time, ferociously holding back tears—and the dark mess of curly hair, now soaked from the rain and sticking to a face Jim would recognize in any crowd, and never forget the details of.

"That’s it, come back to me." Barely holding together without breaking, the voice was still the strongest and most stubborn Jim had ever heard in his life, a voice that he knew every note and sound of, would always reach him and guide him back.

"Come on, Jim, I know you’re in there, talk to me." Blair leaned his forehead against Jim’s. He smelled of rain and old books and herbs, and those godawful things he used as medicine and a million other things that created the spectrum of scent that was uniquely his. Jim breathed it all in as he would the air that kept him alive.

"Please say something." He could feel Blair’s weight on his legs and on his lap, radiating heat on the coldness of Jim’s skin, his breath on Jim’s lips. Warm slender fingers cradled Jim’s head, remnants of their connection still tingling at his temples. Jim lifted his hands to mirror their hold, and Blair fit into them perfectly, like they were shaped for each other. "Please, Jim, say something," Blair asked again, tears running down his cheeks along with the rain, all the way to that beautiful mouth that never stopped talking.

"Found it," Jim whispered, smiled, and reached to taste Blair’s lips. He was complete. The world vanished.

 

~~~

 

Jim woke to a slow realization that something was subtly wrong. Opening his eyes revealed an unfamiliar ceiling, the large light fixtures attached upon it luckily turned off, leaving the room bathed in the comfortably low level illumination of the street lamps outside. The main odour of the place was... clinical.

"This is not my bed," he said, or more like croaked. "Not my voice either." There was movement in the darkness, and a figure appeared next to him. Turning to look, he was surprised and a little disappointed to see it was Simon.

"Welcome back, Jim," he said quietly, hands squeezing the metal railing of the hospital bed Jim lay in. "You had us a little worried there for a while." And the quiet way he said it spoke volumes about the true amount of his worry for his friend.

"How long—" Jim’s question was cut short by coughing. His throat was dry like he hadn’t had anything to drink in days. He could feel an IV stuck into his arm.

"Three days," Simon said, and held out a glass of water for Jim to take a few cautious sips from, putting it away when Jim nodded. "You almost died."

Memories started to trickle in, forming at first a stream, then a raging river. All the events of the days preceding his hospitalization came rushing back—Blair leaving, tons of paperwork, the ever growing confusion, the world around him going crazy—Jim could now even remember the dreams, running trough the jungle being hunted, the panther, the....

"Blair, I need to speak to Blair, right now." He started to get up only to have Simon push Jim back down on the bed with his hand. Splayed on Jim's chest it continued to keep him there.

"Did you not hear me, you almost died!" Jim finally registered the tired eyes, the guilt in his voice. "I shouldn’t have—" It must have been hell on Simon, almost losing someone for the second time in such a short time.

"Simon, it wasn’t your fault. If anyone’s to blame it’s me," Jim said and grabbed him by the wrist, until Simon backed up. He wearily sat down in a nearby chair, where he obviously had been sleeping, leaning his head into his hands. Jim wanted to relieve the man of his misplaced guilt, but that would have to wait for a better time. What Jim had to do couldn’t wait. This time the he knew what his senses longed for, what _he_ longed for, and there was no doubt or confusion as to what he needed to do.

Jim rose again, slowly, inching his legs over the side until he sat on the edge of the bed. Every muscle in his body war sore, but he could move. He could feel no bandages, so there had been no surgery. And his head felt clear, senses alert and working like they should. Jim automatically started listening for Blair’s voice, his heartbeat, but found them nowhere nearby.

"Help me out will you," he asked, carefully pulling the IV out. Simon didn’t answer. "Come on Simon, please."

Simon sighed deeply, and got up on his feet again. "You are one stupid, obstinate, and crazy idiot," he said, "I should cuff you to that bed, nothing else seems to stop you from trying to kill yourself." Simon looked like he really wanted to be angry, but didn’t have the strength for it.

"Please, I need to see Blair," Jim pleaded, and held out his hand.

"If not your own, you’ll be the death of me at least," Simon grumbled, but he still stepped closer and slid under Jim’s extended arm and helped him off the bed. The floor beneath Jim’s bare feet was cold, but stable.

"Ok, where are my clothes?" Looking around, Jim saw no trace of them. The hospital gown barely reached his knees, and there was a definitely drafty feel on the backside.

"You didn’t come in with any," Simon told him. "We meant to bring you something but I don' think anyone remembered, what with being too worried for you to get a decent night's sleep."

"Oh."

"And I ain't helping you with that catheter."

 

~~~

 

They settled on dressing Jim in Simon’s overcoat; it was enough to cover him on their way to the hospital parking garage, and Simon’s car. On their way there they'd gotten a bottle of water for Jim from a vending machine, but had skipped the solid snacks for now.

Simon hadn't asked any questions, no doubt knowing Jim didn’t have any easy answers to give. He just kept constantly glancing at Jim as he drove, as if checking Jim was still alive and breathing. To be honest, Jim was still weak, and he probably should have stayed longer in the hospital for observation; but he'd been in enough bad situations to know how far he could push his body. In addition to that, Jim had this inexplicable feeling that he would be fine just as long as he got to Blair, and he found the pull of it too strong to resist.

"Tell me what happened," Jim asked quietly as he sat in the car, staring at the road ahead, "I’m a little fuzzy on the details near the end." All he could remember with any real clarity was Blair, the memory so vivid to all his senses it was almost like reliving it.

"I’m not that sure myself," Simon replied. "By the time I arrived you were already near catatonic. I called for an ambulance, tried talking to you, shouting, even slapping you—nothing. I even tried moving you out of the rain several times, but you just pushed me away, and actually gave me quite a kick in the gut."

"Sorry about that," Jim said guiltily. He didn't remember any of that either.

"Don’t know how you did it either," Simon continued, stealing another brief look Jim's way, his brow a tight furrow. "Looked like you were almost gone already..." It was almost a whisper.

They finally turned onto a familiar road, and soon parked in front of Jim’s apartment building. Simon shut the engine, but didn’t move. "The medics were taking too damn long," he told Jim, hands still gripping the wheel tightly. "I thought you were gonna die."

"It was already too late for anything you could have done," Jim replied quietly, trying his best to console the captain, even though all he wanted to do was rush out of the car and up the stairs to where Blair was. "And it was my fault for not saying anything sooner. The thing was going to run its course no matter what. There was nothing left either of us could have done to stop it."

"No, but there was something he could do," Simon told Jim, gradually letting go of the wheel and turning to look at Jim, his face now a mixture of awe and disbelief. "We never did reach him in Mexico, and I still don’t know how the hell the kid knew how to be there."

"Blair? He came back on his own?"

Simon nodded, brow wrinkling with thought. "The medics had arrived just ahead of him, they were barely through the door when Sandburg burst in, shoving them aside and running straight over to you. Without a word he just sat down on top of you, and then turned to look over his shoulder, just once, staring me straight in the eyes and practically growling ‘ _don’t let them near him until I’m done_ ’. Even I was scared of him." Jim had always wondered why someone like Blair had a wolf for a spirit animal, and now he knew. He wished he could have seen that.

"I’ve never seen him like that, so dead serious, so... focused." Simon said. "You were dying, the medics had retreated to the kitchen and I kept frantically pacing the room between them and you guys, but Blair kept himself together like a pro, not panicking in the slightest or at least not showing it. He put his hands next to your face, and called out to you a couple of times, but you didn’t answer. Then he just fell silent, and remained that way for such a long time. I had to shoo off the medics twice, and they thought I was crazy. I thought so too. But I’d already seen the two of you pull off one miracle..." Simon's voice trailed off for a moment, no doubt thinking of when they nearly lost Blair.

"After a while you suddenly came to, only to go all limp and pass out, and that’s basically it." Simon concluded, averting his gaze for a second. Apparently he had seen a certain unmentioned details of the events, but chose not to mention them. Jim lowered his head to hide his face, the memory of the kiss on his lips. He thought he recalled Blair kissing him back, but Jim couldn't rely on a memory alone, he needed to be sure.

"Only then did Sandburg let the medics take you to the hospital," Simon continued to recount the events. "But the strange thing was, he told me he’d been trying to get to you for days. He couldn’t get a flight out because they were booked solid, so he'd rented a car and drove over, almost two days straight without sleeping and barely eating. And when I asked him about the whole thing, he said the wolf told him to come." Jim looked up at that, finding Simon giving him one of those puzzled stares again.

"But I guess you want to be going upstairs, instead of explaining me things I wouldn’t understand anyway," the tired captain noted after seeing the look on Jim’s face. "As soon as your condition was stable, I sent the kid home to sleep. Thankfully he obeyed without growling, though he gave you quite a lecture before he agreed to let me drive him over, didn’t seem to matter that you were unconscious at the time."

Jim was certain he was going to get a replay in his waking state as well.

 

~~~

 

The living room was a mess. Books and papers and handwritten notes covered almost every available surface, along with discarded dinner plates and a lone mug, still half full of long gone cold coffee. As they moved closer, Jim still leaning on Simon for support, they found a sleeping figure curled up on the couch. Clutching a book, glasses held in one hand, the young anthropologist looked as exhausted as he must be, considering them entering hadn't woken him up. Blair was wearing one of Jim’s knitted sweaters, and it made him look smaller than he really was, in more ways than one. Jim wanted to wrap himself around Blair too, but not in the hospital gown.

"Help me upstairs," Jim whispered, wanting to put on some proper clothing. That part he succeeded doing on his own, something Simon was as grateful of as Jim. They came down again, Jim in his comfy sweats—cautiously without his human crutch this time—Simon with the coat hanging over his arm. He headed for the door, while Jim approached the couch where Blair still slept as soundly as ever. Simon gave Jim one last worried look from the door, and Jim nodded in response; they would be fine. The door closed softly behind the captain, who tonight would hopefully get some well deserved rest.

Jim walked around the couch on unsteady feet and pushed aside some of the clutter on the coffee table in front of it and sat down. The emptiness of the past week had vanished, but another kind of longing had taken its place, a more easily understandable and human one. Jim felt the faint ache of it in his palms, as his hands reacted to his thoughts. But Jim didn’t want to wake Blair just yet. He just sat there and watched him, gently reaching out with other senses to hear his heartbeat, steady and calm, and to inhale his comforting scent. Then he closed his eyes, and concentrated on that thin thread that ran through all of his being, and reached out with his mind.

_"Blair."_

Abrupt sounds of scrambling snapped Jim back to reality, along with the sharp corner of a book hitting his arm on its way across the room. "Ow, what the..." Rubbing his arm, Jim opened his eyes to find a very awake Blair, minus one MIA volume of literature and pair of glasses, staring wide eyed at him from his now more upright position on the couch.

Blair looked bewildered at first, but soon a familiar spark lit Blair’s eyes, and his mouth spread into a wide grin. "Did you just..." Jim smiled back at him and nodded. "I knew it!" Blair exclaimed, jumping up and then immediately sitting down again, shifting in his seat with restless enthusiasm, hands motioning as he spoke. "I knew it, I heard you! I mean not exactly heard like normal hearing but more like I could—"Suddenly Blair stilled, eyes focusing on Jim again as his smile faded and Jim’s along with it.

"You almost died," Blair blurted out, as if only now remembering the fact. He looked so pale; he probably hadn’t slept much during the three days, studying like crazy. Maybe it gave Blair the same escape from unpleasant thoughts that Jim got from running.

"I’m sorry, Chief," he said, knowing it was too late for apologies but trying anyway, "I should have called you as soon as something happened, but—" Blair grabbed two fistfuls of Jim’s shirt and yanked at it so hard that Jim fell off the table and onto his knees in front of Blair.

"You promised me you’d call if anything happened! _You promised me!_ " Blair shouted, and by the time the last words left his mouth the anger that must have pushed them out had shifted into pain.

"I'm sorry, Blair, I'm so sorry," Jim whispered, having nothing but apologies to offer the exhausted man, and hoping he could somehow be forgiven. Blair just kept looking at him with such anguish in his eyes, squeezing the fabric of Jim's shirt like he was afraid Jim might disappear if he let go.

"I thought I'd lose you, Jim," he said, voice now thin as a whisper. "I woke up to a dream of the wolf howling like mad, begging me to follow. It led me to the jungle, showed me how you were running, the panther on your tail, and I knew if I didn't come back you'd both die. And I almost didn't make it on time..." Blair fell silent, but now that Jim's mind was opened to their bond he could reach all the thoughts and feelings raging inside Blair. In his distraught state Blair probably wasn't even aware he was transmitting them over their connection, like a beacon for Jim to follow.

Flashes of memories, pieces of their life together, each coloured by different emotions but all overlaid with affection Blair felt for Jim. How could Jim have missed it? The gradual evolution of seeing Jim as an interesting phenomenon to becoming a friend, until being just friends no longer seemed to suffice. Finding in Jim something that no other relationship could offer, despite all of Blair's efforts, and the denial of those feelings because Blair had feared that exposing them would have meant the end of it—and so much more, small moments that Jim now got to see from Blair's side. Jim scoured through them all until he found what he was looking for.

A single memory, of Blair sitting on a hotel bed somewhere in Mexico, next to a guy named Tony, an old lover, and an even older friend. Blair was talking to Tony about his feelings for Jim and whether he should reveal them or not, of the years of hiding and waiting and not being able to bear it much longer. Jim saw Tony's encouraging smile through Blair's eyes, heard him saying that Blair had to, and felt Blair's relief and resolution.

And a stream of words that Blair fought so hard to say to Jim over the paralyzing rush of emotions that held his tongue.

_I nearly lost you I NEARLY LOST YOU you stupid stubborn bastard don't you ever dare to do that to me again because I can't bear to think about what I'd do I'm going to tie you down to your bed if I have to to keep you safe I haven't even told you how I feel about you yet I love you Jim and I need you to know that after all this time I love you so much..._

Happiness and love welled up inside of Jim, flooded him with golden warmth, and he took it all and let it flow back to Blair.

 _"I'm sorry,"_ he apologized once more through their bond, lacing the plea for forgiveness together with a promise to do as Blair had asked. Jim had no intention of ever letting go of Blair again. _"And you can tie me to a bed anytime you want."_

The last thought was carried along by a feeling of bubbling laughter, but also an invitation. Blair gasped briefly, his hold slowly relaxing as all he was receiving from Jim sank in. A few tears fell, but he smiled, and Jim could feel his own feelings reflected in Blair, multiplying and bounding back, bouncing between them until it became an almost tangible thing that whirled around them and pulled Jim and Blair under into a rippling pool of warmth and light.

 _"Come on in man, the water’s nice,"_ Blair called to him like he had once before, and this time Jim didn't hesitate. He dove in head first and kissed Blair, with all his senses open and without holding anything back. Jim was complete, his _world_ was complete, and forever would be with Blair by his side.

 _"Mine too,"_ Blair told him, responding to his kiss with all his body and soul, melding into Jim like he'd always been a part of him, and beyond that they no longer needed words.

In a distant jungle somewhere beyond our ordinary reality, a dark panther and a silvery wolf ran along side by side, and then disappeared into the lush foliage, together.

 

~~~ End ~~~

 


End file.
